


Caught Blue-Handed

by jaclynhyde



Category: Star Wars Legends: Hand of Thrawn Duology - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: First Time, M/M, Multi, Roleplay, Threesome - M/M/M, method acting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/pseuds/jaclynhyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flim hadn't expected the role of a lifetime to include quite so many nude scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Blue-Handed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ks_villain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ks_villain/gifts).



> Thank you to my wonderful beta vanishinghitchhiker! ks_villain, have a delightful Yuletide and I hope you enjoy your mountains of Flim I don't know how this happened.

Flim was just sitting down to slip off Grand Admiral Thrawn's boots, viciously fantasizing exactly where Tierce and Disra could shove their secrets, when he was interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared from somewhere inside his allegedly secure apartment.

Calmly straightening a trouser leg, Flim panicked. He should have insisted Tierce guard him, or carried a blaster even though it ruined the silhouette of the uniform, or just not taken the job at all. At least his red surface inserts were still in—he wouldn't blow his cover by dying with his metaphorical pants down, good to know.

Was it the Noghri, back to finish the job? Could Noghri even clear their throats? No, they wouldn't have bothered warning him. It must be someone trying to blackmail him, or maybe air some grievances before getting their own assassination in. But talking, he could work with. Turning away from the door, he opened his mouth—

Flim's words caught in his throat.

In front of him stood an alien—a Chiss, he remembered dazedly—all blue skin and burning red eyes. Rather impressive, he'd admit, enough that the holdout blaster pointed at his chest was practically an afterthought. So that's what the eyes were like from the other side—he'd remember that next time he had to intimidate someone.

On second thought, Flim considered as he studied the face he'd seen a hundred times (not even counting the mirror), he may have to work on a change of plans first.

"Ah," Flim said, letting Thrawn's smoothly modulated voice take over as he mentally ran through his options. There weren't many, and he didn't like them. "My clone, I presume."

Wordlessly, the alien pulled the collar of his shirt down, far enough to show the tip of a jagged, pale blue scar. A scar from a wound that hadn't seen bacta for almost too long, that presumably stretched to cover his heart.

"No, Flim," said the late Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Oh, _kriff_.

This wasn't some career officer who could only order others to kill for him. This was a man who had survived exile, who had meticulously recorded how he singlehandedly routed two Imperial transports worth of soldiers with only some twigs and mud to his name. And, more relevantly, a man who had survived a fatal knife wound, managed to discover the most well-guarded secret in the Empire, and broke into that secret's room to point a blaster at him.

This, Flim considered, was looking like less of a languish-in-Kessel offense and more of an execute-immediately-to-set-an-example offense.

And with his life expectancy shrinking before his eyes, Flim swallowed a grimace and took the best option he could think of.

"You know, sir, a body double would be useful in your line of work."

  


* * *

  


He wasn't dead, and he wasn't in cuffs, which was about the best he could hope for. Still, paying a visit to the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Remnant alongside the man Flim was impersonating wouldn't have been his first choice.

Especially since Thrawn hadn't given him a chance to change, only supplying them both with concealing cloaks. Thrawn had no reason to fake his own death again, right?

The hand on his shoulder turned him around, breaking his train of thought. Thrawn, presumably satisfied no one was lying in wait, doubled them back on their path. After a quick scan of their surroundings, Flim reluctantly had to agree. Assassins, at this point, would be significantly less complicated. He'd been hoping to put off meeting Admiral Pellaeon for a while longer, preferably after the man had gone blind and deaf. On the bright side, he didn't seem nearly so intimidating now that he had a brand new point of comparison with an unyielding grip on his shoulder.

Thrawn stopped him in front of a door and rapped a short rhythm, not any kind of Imperial code he'd been briefed on. The door opened before them, and Flim was face to face with Admiral Pellaeon.

He had just enough time to register the Admiral's civilian clothing before Thrawn rushed him in, Pellaeon sealing the door behind them. They shed their cloaks, and Flim had to suppress a mad giggle when Pellaeon politely took them to hang up. He didn't get treated like an honored guest at the best of times, but he'd take what he could get.

And then there was nothing else to keep Admiral Pellaeon's attention from them.

He showed no surprise upon seeing Thrawn—looks like Flim wasn't the first person he needed to visit before making his grand entrance—but his eyes widened involuntarily at the sight of Flim's face.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, deciding on his own accent, slightly less aristocratic than Thrawn's, at the last second. "Really."

The Admiral narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to study Flim, and he was uncomfortably reminded of looking into the glowing red eyes of the most feared man in the Empire. He'd heard of Admiral Pellaeon's rise to effective leader of the Empire, of course, even before he'd become intimately familiar with the Imperial navy. But he'd never inspired that unshakable _confidence_ that the Empire, even in the seediest gutters of Coruscant, once had in Thrawn—confidence that he would triumphantly restore the Empire's glory and their rightful place in the universe.

Maybe they should have been paying more attention.

"You're human?" Admiral Pellaeon asked, and Flim was well aware he was seeing right through his false eyes.

"More or less." Thankfully Flim was good at suppressing the urge to fidget, years on the stage instilling what his brief stint in the military didn't. At least Pellaeon couldn't see that Flim's eyes were tracking his; he took note of each time Pellaeon's mouth tightened and filed it under Things to Improve.

Finally, the Admiral nodded. "Close enough to fool most. Your skills and your face put you in a unique position, one that we could certainly make use of. But the question remains: why should I trust you when you've already taken part in a conspiracy to discredit me?"

"Of _course_ I'd rather the Empire be in your hands—" he started, smoothly, until Thrawn looked at him with a deceptively neutral expression. Flim sighed. "I don't have a death wish."

To Flim's surprise, Admiral Pellaeon barked a laugh. "I appreciate your honesty," he said dryly. "We'll need your evidence implicating Moff Disra and Major Tierce, along with a recorded testimony—your personal involvement will be minimized." And won't that be an entertaining cover story? He'd put his credits on holographic disguise. "You'll remain under our protection while we arrange Grand Admiral Thrawn's return." He stopped, expression sheepish, and belatedly glanced over for Grand Admiral Thrawn's approval. "Agreed?"

Looking faintly amused, Thrawn nodded. "Agreed, Commander."

He kept _looking_ at him, Flim noticed, now that he'd calmed down enough to pay attention to something other than escape routes. The Admiral's eyes kept flicking back to Thrawn, barely even registering the devious con man he probably should be keeping track of. And not just Thrawn's face, or his eyes—his _lips_.

Admiral Pellaeon's hero worship hadn't lessened any after a decade, he realized with a touch of irritation. If Flim had thought of that sooner, he could have—

Thrawn was watching Pellaeon, too. With an expression he'd never seen on the man's face, something warm and fond and private.

"You've grown a great deal, Pellaeon." Thrawn's smile turned wistful. "I wish I'd been here to see it."

And when Admiral Pellaeon reached to touch Thrawn's cheek, looking like he was the one who'd finally come home, Flim was too confused to look away. Even after the man leaned in even closer, pressed his lips to Thrawn's with a touch so light, so tentative it had to be the first time he'd dared.

Flim blinked, hard.

He should probably remind them of his presence. Or take his leave, they seemed to be otherwise occupied—

Instead, he was watching Thrawn reciprocate, just as gently, until he pulled away enough to rest his forehead against Pellaeon's. Thrawn whispered something—he couldn't quite hear what—but he got the idea when they both looked over to him.

Flim swallowed.

Admiral Pellaeon, cheeks pink in a way one rarely saw on an elder statesman of the Empire, simply smiled at Thrawn and walked away. Professional, dignified, and headed right toward the bedroom.

When Thrawn started after him, he half expected the two of them to leave him to his own devices while they were otherwise occupied, and even he didn't know the etiquette for that sort of thing. But instead, Thrawn turned to look expectantly at Flim, eyes glittering. "Come along," he ordered, quietly, and Flim pretended he was surprised at his sudden shock of arousal.

"But—I studied him," he muttered to Thrawn, catching his sleeve without thinking. "He doesn't like _men_."

Thrawn's eyes flicked away from the bedroom door—well, he could tell what direction Thrawn was looking now, but he had no idea if he was smiling or not. "You see, but you do not observe." With a firm hand to the small of his back, Flim was propelled to the bedroom.

Pellaeon's jacket was folded neatly on the back of a chair; the man himself sat on the bed, removing his boots. And from the muscles Flim could see beneath the material of his shirt, he was—surprisingly fit, for being about two hundred years old.

And rumor had it he spent those years accruing a lot of experience.

He felt the warmth of Thrawn's hand on his back keenly.

Then it was gone, as Thrawn stepped past him to stand before Pellaeon. "Admiral," he said, and that was definitely not a tone Thrawn used on the bridge.

He could hear Pellaeon's sharp intake of breath from there. "Admiral." Thrawn certainly recognized the invitation in that, because he untucked his shirt and gracefully pulled it off—

 _Damn_ the man.

Flim's own physique may not look quite like that, but he could at least take comfort in the fact that no one else was likely to have a cause for direct comparison.

Pellaeon's eyes went not to Thrawn's muscles, but to the ugly scar over his heart. He looked about to say something, except then his eyes met Thrawn's and whatever Pellaeon saw made it more important to take off his undershirt, very quickly. And he was—surprising. Admiral Pellaeon may not be as physically fit as Thrawn, or Flim, but 'Old Man of the Empire' was not the first phrase that came to mind.

Flim looked at Thrawn, at Pellaeon, at the way they looked at each other, and he wasn't even trying to deny his arousal now. As for Flim's clothing—well, as the only one currently in uniform, he practically had a _responsibility_.

He stepped over to them, settling into perfect parade rest. Although he might get points docked for letting his eyes roam over Thrawn's hard biceps, the curls of pure white hair on Pellaeon's chest. "Reporting for duty," he said, just on the edge of insubordinance.

Pellaeon was watching them, and Flim saw the muscles working in his throat as he swallowed. And Thrawn, Thrawn was suddenly only a few centimeters away, and his blazing eyes settled on Flim's.

  
Well. Nobody would ever say Flim wasn't a narcissist.

Before he could learn forward, Thrawn's hand was clasping his neck and Thrawn's lips were on his own. Like hells he was getting left behind—nothing to do but kiss back.

Flim was getting the feeling there was a _lot_ Thrawn left out of his memoirs, because he was pretty sure you don't learn to kiss like that by studying art. Now that he thought about it, actually, some pieces were sliding into place regarding Jorj Car'das—

The appreciative hum coming from Pellaeon reminded him that this was no time to think about it, not with Thrawn's hand sliding down to pull his hips closer and Flim did not mean to make that startled noise. Thrawn looked altogether too pleased with himself when he finally pulled away; at Flim's soft noise (he didn't mean to make that one either), his smile just widened.

Pellaeon cleared his throat. "May I cut in?"

Thrawn gave his answer by immediately turning towards Pellaeon, climbing into bed next to  
him. Flim cocked an eyebrow and asked, "For who?"

Pellaeon only gave a snort before Thrawn leaned over, took his face in his hands, and kissed him with intent. It was oddly fascinating to watch, for an alien kissing an old man. Artistic, even.

Kind of hot, too.

They finally paused, long enough for Pellaeon to catch Flim's eyes and pointedly look at Flim's uniform. It was immaculate, excepting what he had to admit was a fairly obvious erection. "Well?" Pellaeon asked, voice low.

Shavit, now Flim was _blushing_.

Suppressing the urge to do a full strip show, he carefully undid his belt and set it on the dresser. Next the gloves—he pulled those off slowly, revealing perfectly made-up hands, taking note of the way Pellaeon's eyes were drawn to them. Ah, now he had their full attention.

Then his boots and socks, his jacket—he made sure to fold that neatly, Disra was always making noises about sonic cleaning expenses—and finally his black undershirt. There, now they were even.

On the other hand, why should he just sit back and let them lead the way?

Flim undid his trousers and slipped them off. And then, with a smile, his undergarments.

He still had Thrawn and Pellaeon's attention, all right, but Thrawn's smile looked suspiciously amused and he was staring at Flim's—

Flim looked down. Oh. Right. Blue all over, and the patches of brown skin at the creases of his thigh weren't really helping. Well, nothing to do but grin and let them look their fill. "Takes less effort to dye everything."

Thrawn laughed quietly, breath hitching when Pellaeon turned his attention to his fly. "Will you be joining us?"

Flim sketched a salute. "Yes, sir." He was aiming for sarcastic, really, but had the sneaking suspicion he hit eager instead.

The three of them fit comfortably—the perks of a room on a Supreme Commander's budget, he guessed—even with Flim finagling himself into position to undress Pellaeon and watch him undress Thrawn at the same time. He paused, distracted, when Thrawn lifted his hips to let Pellaeon remove his shorts. His cock was a lovely shade of purple-blue; Flim really had to pick up that color dye for future activities. And then the contrast of Pellaeon's hand, wrapped around it—Flim made an appreciative noise.

"You're taking your time," Thrawn said, a little breathlessly, and gently removed Pellaeon's hand in order to take care of Pellaeon's half-removed trousers and briefs. And then he kissed Pellaeon with a surprising fervor, kissed him hard enough to push him back against Flim.

With an pleased hum, Flim settled against the headboard and pulled Pellaeon against him, the warm skin of his back against his hard cock. Thrawn followed, still kissing him, hands traveling over Pellaeon's chest, and sides, and legs.

Pellaeon moaned, a soft, desperate noise, and Flim suddenly smiled.

"Good, Admiral," he murmured in Thrawn's voice. And oh, he could feel Pellaeon shudder against him, even as Thrawn's burning eyes snapped up to his.

Flim winked.

His eyes locked on Flim's, Thrawn trailed long fingers up Pellaeon's thigh and onto his cock. "Please, continue." Thrawn's eyes flicked back at Pellaeon's moan—and that subtle flush sat very well on Chiss skin.

What did it look like under his own skin dye, he wondered. "Just like that," he said as Thrawn's hand wrapped around Pellaeon's cock and Pellaeon let out a strangled gasp.

"Let me hear you," Thrawn said, very softly—and whispered something in a sibilant language Flim had never heard before.

Oh, that wasn't _fair_.

One hand clutching Pellaeon's hip, Flim dragged the other over his chest, his nipples, his neck. "You've thought about this for a long time, Captain," he whispered, Thrawn still speaking in a low murmur, hand working on Pellaeon's cock.

"Yes," Pellaeon said, voice raw, and Thrawn's litany faltered for a moment.

"You've thought about my voice, about me touching you." Fingers brushing against a nipple, Flim couldn't help lightly thrusting against Pellaeon's ass. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Pellaeon's neck while Thrawn hummed something against his lips. "You've thought about me kneeling before you," and Thrawn was moving before he finished his sentence.

He'd have to keep up the commentary now that Thrawn's mouth was occupied, wouldn't he?

"You've—you want me to lick your cock," he said, watching Thrawn do just that. "Don't you, Admiral?" He rewarded Pellaeon's nod with a kiss to the shell of his ear. "Then I will. And you want me to touch myself, watching you." Thrawn did, his ragged breathing muffled by Pellaeon's cock.

"You want me to suck you until you come in my mouth." He wasn't sure who was directing the other anymore, just that Thrawn's eyes locked on Pellaeon's face, Pellaeon's labored breathing, were damned erotic. "You want to come, Admiral. _Gilad_."

He watched Thrawn shiver, felt Pellaeon shudder against him, and made his own strangled noise as Pellaeon came into Thrawn's mouth.

Flim murmured gentle words into Pellaeon's ear, feeling his heart pound below his hand, and he was so hard he was seriously considering just holding Pellaeon there and thrusting against him until he came. So when Thrawn sat up and Pellaeon moved to meet him, it only took a second before Flim's hand found his way to his cock, roughly pumping. He groaned, head falling against the headboard.

"Quieter," Thrawn said, and it took a split second for it to sink in.

Choking back a groan, Flim squeezed his eyes shut—he knew those didn't pass inspection—and touched himself like Grand Admiral Thrawn would, thinking about his Captain—Admiral—and the sounds he made while he sucked him off.

"Not so quickly," ordered Thrawn; Pellaeon's low, aroused laugh wasn't quite helping, but he followed instructions and slowed down his pace. Thrawn was precise, always, mind working even while he was getting himself off, calculating each stroke—

"Don't _think_ so much," Thrawn said, voice finally going ragged, and all right, Flim had been wrong before.

He had to open his eyes, then, just enough to see them—Thrawn, hand clenched on his thigh, obviously trying to keep his breathing under control as he deliberately didn't touch his cock. And Pellaeon, flushed and smiling, separating from Thrawn to move towards Flim.

Pellaeon said to him, "Your turn, sir," and Flim was bucking into his own hand even before he leaned closer to kiss his neck, his lips.

Pellaeon pulled away, and Flim's eyes caught Thrawn's. "Flim," said Thrawn, voice low, " _come_."

He did.

Flim closed his eyes to the sound of his and Thrawn's heavy breathing; it was only a moment before he heard the sound of a kiss, a sharp intake of breath.

Pellaeon was all over Thrawn, mouth on his, one hand roaming everywhere he could reach and the other resting protectively over his scar. There was just enough space for Flim to press close to them, to add his fingers and lips to the onslaught. It wasn't much of a plan of attack, but the tactical genius was probably distracted enough not to issue any demerits.

"Thrawn," Pellaeon murmured, so softly that Flim wasn't sure he was meant to hear it. Well, he was polite enough to stroke his hands over Thrawn's hips and thighs while Pellaeon said what he needed to.

Thrawn whispered something in return—Flim really had to learn Cheunh one of these days—and moved his hands to Flim's hair and to Pellaeon's cheek. And when Flim leaned in closer to his cock, Thrawn's fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him away. Fair enough, he thought, redirecting further down his thigh. He could wait his turn.

It didn't take long, not after he'd watched the two of them come, not after Pellaeon's hand found its way to Thrawn's cock and Flim's lips continued to dance around his groin. He heard them kissing, Thrawn's breathing coming faster, and he felt Thrawn's thigh moving under his lips, and he fervently wished he were sixteen again so he could enjoy this properly.

And then Thrawn made a strangled noise into Pellaeon's mouth, hips jerking up hard enough that his hipbone connected with Flim's nose, and Flim made his own strangled noise. But at least he pulled away in time to see Thrawn come over Pellaeon's hand, only the smallest sliver of red shining under his eyelids, and Pellaeon kissed him like he never wanted to stop.

Flim half-laughed, rubbing at his nose.

Thrawn is louder than he thinks he is.

With a distracted pat to Flim's leg, Thrawn tugged Pellaeon close to him. Flim leaned back and watched the two legendary Imperial commanders, post-coital, flushed and sticky and leaning on each other. They could be ordinary men—even the glow of Thrawn's eyes, reflecting red on Pellaeon's face, was natural.

Until those eyes looked over at his and narrowed speculatively, that is.

Now was probably a good time to take his leave—

Thrawn grasped his knee before he could move. "You'll stay where we can keep track of you," he said mildly. "Meaning here, or restrained on the lounger. " He held up a hand. "And I don't believe you'd stay restrained."

"You're ordering me to cuddle," Flim said, flatly. But he lay down as he spoke, he and Thrawn settling on either side of Pellaeon.

It was one thing to see a high-ranking Imperial officer getting off—wouldn't be Flim's first time. But to see one content? Pellaeon looked years younger, no more than a hundred seventy. Probably the first time he'd been able to relax in ages, come to think of it. The Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy likely had a lot on his mind (and Flim wouldn't think about how much he'd contributed to that).

Absently, Flim smoothed a hand over Pellaeon's hair, fingers brushing against the hand already tangled there.

All things considered, he was glad he didn't have to go through with the con.

"Safest to cuff him to the bed," Pellaeon remarked, drowsily.

More or less.


End file.
